


Guardian Angel

by softboystanley



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Homophobia, M/M, Marvel References, Stans parents SUCK, Yikes, a few house jokes that no one will get, alternating pov, cause house is an ancient show, donald uris is an ass, grab ur tissues, i wrote the end part after watching the promo for the new spn ep, ive exposed my true lane, just a collection of stozier moments leading up to a big one, lets pretend that checking ribs is like that, lil bit of suicidal thoughts just a small bit, mentions of abuse and some blood, oh shit tons of angst, one homophobic slur, richies are great, so im sad, stan gets abused, theyre 13 in the first one 14 in the second and 15/16 in the last one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 16:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17728514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softboystanley/pseuds/softboystanley
Summary: Richie was always there for Stan. But could he be there when Stan needed him most?





	Guardian Angel

**Author's Note:**

> yikes this fic is super angsty sorry

Richie was never good any kind of sports, but when his mom signed him up for baseball he wasn’t complaining because his best friend, Stan, was also on the team. Stan had been playing baseball much longer than Richie so he was a pro. One day, Richie was in Stan’s back yard, and he was learning how to bat. 

 

“Okay, Rich it’s super simple. Just swing the bat.” Stan said, looking supportive. Richie nodded and Stan pitched the ball, much slower than he would at a game. Richie swung at the ball but ended up missing and doing a twirl instead. This, of course, sent Stan into hysterics, which sent chills up Richie’s spine. He loved it when Stan laughed, especially when he made Stan laugh. 

 

“Try again. Maybe plant your feet in the ground this time. Bend your knees, too. You’re straighter than a stripper pole.” Stan had learned that last phrase from Richie, of course.  _ Oh if only you knew. _

 

On his next try, Richie took a different stance. He planted his feet firmly to the ground and then Stan pitched the ball once again. Richie took a deep breath and swung the bat. He heard the crack of wood as the ball met his bat but then departed and hit Stan in the shin.

 

“Oh god, Stan. I’m so sorry.” Richie dropped his bat and ran over to Stan, expecting for him to be crying from the pain. Richie was almost taken aback when Stan showed no signs of being hurt and just picked up the ball. 

 

“Don’t worry about it, Rich. Not the first time I’ve been hit.” Stan pulled back some hair on his forehead and showed Richie a small bruise above his eyebrow. 

 

“Woah. How’d you get that?” Richie’s eyes widened. 

 

“Wasn’t wearing my helmet during practice and Mike Hanlon nailed me right above the eyebrow.” Richie walked back to where they had set up home base but Stan stopped him. 

 

“Your last swing was really good but we should work on your aim.” Stan walked back with him and stood next to Richie at home plate. “Get back into your stance again, I just want to see something.” 

 

Richie planted his feet in the ground again and bent his knees. He felt Stan’s hand touch his elbow, raising it up. Stan’s hand ran across his arm ever so gently and Richie felt his heart beat faster. Stan then moved behind Richie and touch his other arm, moving it downwards slightly with the tip of his finger. 

 

“Alright, let's try again.” Stan said and walked back to where he was. He winded up his pitch and the ball left his hand. Richie focused on the ball and swung the bat, once again hearing the crack of wood ringing through his skull. He saw the ball soar into the sky and land on the other side of Stan’s yard. 

 

“Holy shit! You did it!” Stan said, dropping his mitt and running to Richie. 

 

“I did it!” Together, they jumped with excitement. 

 

“You’re going to be so good at baseball, Rich!” 

 

“You really think so?” 

 

“I know so.” 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Stan felt Henry’s fist collide with his face and definitely knock a few teeth loose. He groaned as another round of punches hit his chest and rib cage. There were definite bruises on his face and he could feel the blood trickle from his nose and fall on the pavement below. When the next wave of hits fell on his face, his vision started to blur and the world went quiet as his ears rang. Just as he was on the verge of passing out, he heard a voice call out for him distantly. 

 

“Stan! Get off of him, asshole!” Stan saw a pair of worn converse run over to him and fight off Henry. The figure was knocked to the ground and Stan saw a mop of black curly hair fall to the ground before getting up and hitting Henry in the dick. 

 

“Richie?” Stan mumbled under his breath as he heard a chorus of swears erupt from Henry. He could hear more noise and shuffling behind him but it hurt to move. He let his body rest on the ground as Henry and Richie fought behind him. 

 

He heard someone, presumably Henry, run off but not before calling Stan a horribly offensive slur. He felt a hand on his shoulder as Richie knelt beside him. 

 

“Stan?! Are you okay?” Richie put his fingers under Stan’s chin and raised it up towards the light. 

 

Stan only offered a groan in response. He tried to sit up but his ribs cracked and he fell to the pavement. 

 

“Don’t try to stand. Just stay there. I’ll see if I can go find Eddie.”

 

“No wait, please. Stay.” Stan turned himself over, which caused him endless amounts of pain, and faced Richie. He kept a hand over his ribs. 

 

“Jesus, your face is fucked up.” 

 

“Thanks, Rich.” Stan tried to roll his eyes but instead, he threw up into the bush next to him. 

 

“Yikes. Just let it all out, I guess.” 

 

“You know, you really are no help.” Stan said, once he had finished vomiting. 

 

“You know it, babe.” Richie winked, trying to make light of the situation. 

 

Stan lifted up his shirt to look at his ribs. He was greeted by a mix of brown and blue bruises decorating his side. He also saw some bloody spots. 

 

“Was he wearing iron knuckles or some shit? Lord. Are you okay?” 

 

“What do you think?” 

 

“Alright, I’m going to take you to my house and I’ll clean you up.” Richie said and scooped Stan up in his arms bridal style. He carried him down the road to his house and put Stan on top of his kitchen counter. 

 

“Lift up your shirt so I can put the bandages on.” Richie said, unrolling some ace bandages. Stan pulled up the front part of his shirt and winced as Richie looped the bandages around his stomach. 

 

“Do you think my ribs are broken?” 

 

“I don’t know, I’m not Eddie.” 

 

“Well, call him.” 

 

Richie pulled out his phone and waited as the phone rang. 

 

“What, trashmouth? I’m with Bill.” 

 

“Stan’s ribs might be broken. How do I check?” 

 

“WHAT!?!” 

 

“Gimme the phone.” Stan said. “Yeah, Eddie. My ribs fucking kill. How do I see if they’re broken?” 

 

“You have to, like, trace them with your fingers and make sure there aren’t any gaps or anything.” 

 

Richie grabbed the phone out of Stan’s hands. “Alright, thanks, Eds.” 

 

“Wait, Richie. How’d he-” Eddie couldn’t finish as Richie had already hung up. 

 

“Tracing ribs. How hard can it be?” 

 

“Are you sure you’re qualified?” 

 

“Of course. Doctor Tozier is in the house.” 

 

Stan rolled his eyes. He felt Richie’s finger on his ribs, which sent pain up his spin. 

 

“No gaps. You’re all set.” 

 

“Thanks so much, Dr. Tozier.” 

 

“All in a day’s work. I should get a show or something, like Grey’s Anatomy. Or House.” 

 

“You could never be House. I would be House.” 

 

“What about me is not House-like?” 

 

“For one, you’re not a real doctor and two, he’s too cynical. You’re too happy.” 

 

“I’m going to ignore the part where you completely disregarded my profession and focus on the fact that you complimented me.” 

 

“Whatever, trashmouth. Get me off your kitchen counter, I feel like we’re about to make out like we’re on Riverdale or some shit.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Richie was on a bike ride when he saw it. His hair was blowing in the wind and he looked over to Stan’s house. He saw a figure sitting on the porch, their head in their hands. He pulled his bike over to the side of the road to get a better view. The figure was sobbing and shaking. Richie dropped his bike and ran over, recognizing the hair as that of his best friend’s. 

 

“Stan? What’s wrong?” Richie stood in front of him and waited for Stan to look at him, but he never did. “Stan?” 

 

“I’m not good enough, Rich. Nothing I can do will ever be good enough.” 

 

Richie sat in front of Stan and put a hand on his knee. “Of course you’re good enough. You’re Stanley Uris. You had read all of the Hobbit books by third grade.” 

 

“I’m not good enough for them. There’s always something I could do better. They’re never proud of me.” 

 

“Of course they are.” 

 

“No, because I’m their screw-up of a son who can’t do anything right. I couldn’t even read my own Torah at my bat mitzvah.” 

 

“You were a kid. And we were going through a lot that summer with Georgie’s death.” 

 

Finally, Stan looked up and Richie was horrified to see a large bruise covering Stan’s eye. Anger coursed through his body as he thought about going in there and kicking the shit out of Stan’s dad. Only his dad could do this. 

 

“Well, I’m not a kid anymore. But I’m still the same burnout who can’t do anything.” 

 

“You’re not a burnout. You’re one of the smartest kids in the grade. You’re well on your way to debate team. The world’s your oyster.” 

 

“Oh, fuck off with that oyster bullshit. I’m gonna get stuck with some lousy desk job for the rest of my days and I’m never going to do anything with my life. I might as well die.” 

 

Richie’s body froze. _ I might as well die _ . How could he think like that? Why couldn’t he see what Richie saw? That he was one of the smartest, wisest, prettiest, courageous people Richie knew. 

 

“You can’t fucking think like that, ever. You’re one of my best friends, and maybe your parents don’t care about you but I do, Stan. More than anything. And if you died I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Richie just then realized that he had grabbed Stan’s face into his hands. 

 

Stan sniffled. “Really?” 

 

Richie laughed. “Are you kidding? You really think I’ve been pretending to be your best friend for 15 years? Jesus Christ, I would miss you so much, if you died. Who would look out for me? Make sure I don’t walk into the road without checking first? Make sure I don’t eat too much pizza at parties and throw up? Do you think Eddie could do that? Or Bill? Or Bev? Or Ben? Or Mike? No that’s your job, Stan. My guardian angel.” Richie took a chance and kissed Stan on the nose. 

 

“Does your eye hurt?” 

 

“A little, but I’ve seen worse. I’ll be okay, thanks to my guardian angel.” Stan smiled at him, tears still rolling down his face, which Richie brushed away with the tip of his thumb. 

 

“What was it this time?” 

 

“Isn’t always the same thing? I try to have one normal conversation with him. One. And he can’t look past it. I’m not their kid anymore. I’m- I’m-” Stan couldn’t get his final words out as he again started to choke on tears. 

 

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. What are you?” 

 

“He’s the damn fag who lives here.” Richie jumped and saw that Donald Uris was standing behind Stan. 

 

Richie grabbed Stan away and stood in front of him protectively. “He’s not that.” Richie couldn’t even bring himself to say the word. It hurt him too much. 

 

“Of course he is. And you’re one, too. Stanley, come over here.” Donald extended his hand to Stan. 

 

“Stan don’t.” Richie backed up further, still hiding Stan behind him. 

 

“Stanley. Now.” Donald was walking closer to Richie. 

 

Richie heard Stan whisper, ever so quietly in his ear: “Just let me go, Rich.” 

 

“No, you deserve better than this fucker. My bike is across the street. On my signal, we run.”

 

He heard Stan gulp at the thought of running away. 

 

Donald was coming closer and closer with each second. “Stan now!” Richie turned and bolted grabbing Stan’s wrist but he felt an unexpected amount of force. He looked to see that Donald had grabbed Stan’s other wrist. He saw the pain on Stan’s face at being tugged in two different directions. 

 

Richie had two options: let go and let Stan be taken away or keep pulling and hope Stan wouldn’t rip in half. He chose option two as he couldn’t stomach the thought of Stan being alone with this freak. He saw Stan trying to wiggle his arm free from Donald. 

 

_ Come on Stan. Come on. We’re so close.  _

 

Stan looked to be on the verge of tears as he slipped free from Donald’s grasp. Richie wasted no time running into the street and over to his bike. He got on and he felt Stan sit behind him. He pedaled out of there as fast as he could. He felt Stan’s arm lace around his stomach as he held on. Richie looked down and saw that on the wrist Donald was holding there were deep fingernail marks which bled over Stan’s arm and onto Richie’s shirt. 

 

“Are you okay back there?”

 

“Just keep going, please.” 

 

Richie heeded Stan’s request and pedaled faster, not to his house but to the quarry, where they could figure out what to do next. 

 

They arrived at the quarry. Stan sat with his feet dangling over the edge, trying to process what had just happened. 

 

“Why’d you have to do that, Rich?” He said quietly. 

 

“Do what? Save you from him?” 

 

“I can’t go back now. I have nowhere to go.” 

 

“Of course you do. You have me. You can live at my house, my parents won’t mind. You’re like a second son to them.” 

 

“He’s gonna look for me. I don’t want you to get hurt in the crossfire.” 

 

Richie sat down next to Stan. “I’m Richie Tozier, baby. Nothing can hurt me. I’m invincible, like Iron Man.” 

 

“Who am I, then? Pepper Potts?” 

 

“Captain America?” Richie snapped his fingers. “Doctor Strange.” 

 

“Doctor Strange?” Stan cracked a smile. 

 

“Yeah. You can do magic and stuff and  _ sometimes _ you’re a bit of a douchebag but you always save the day.” 

 

“You’re Iron Man cause you’re a lovable narcissist who looks out for everyone without realizing it’s effect on you.” 

 

The last part stung at Richie’s soul a little bit. “What do you mean?” 

 

“Just what I said. You always jump to action to protect me but you never protect yourself.”

 

“Name one example.” 

 

“When you fought off Henry and didn’t bother to tell me that you got impaled on a rock.” 

 

“I was fine. Couldn’t even feel it.” 

 

“Today. He’s going to kill you, Rich.” 

 

“No, he’s not. And I’m invincible remember?” 

 

“Iron Man pretends to be invincible, to keep everyone safe.” 

 

Richie offered no response. They sat silently on the edge of the cliff. 

 

“It sounds like you didn’t want me to save you.” Richie said finally. 

 

“Maybe I didn’t. It was fine.” 

 

“No, it really wasn’t. He was hurting you and I couldn't let that happen. Not to the person I love most.” 

 

“You love me?” 

 

“Of course, I love you. You’re my guardian angel.” 

 

“I love you, Richie.” 

 

“I love you, Stan.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
